


Sunsets

by SennexTheAssasinKingOfLight



Category: Cursed (TV 2020)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Anal Sex, Boundries discussion, Cooking, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Love Confessions, M/M, Praise Kink sort of, Roommates, Suggestive Themes, kind of, naps
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-17 16:41:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29103483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SennexTheAssasinKingOfLight/pseuds/SennexTheAssasinKingOfLight
Summary: Lancelot and Gawain have been roommates for almost four years. The problem is they both like one another and neither is able to admit it. Until one night, one very domestic night, the teasing and flirting comes to a head, and all because Lancelot took a nap in an unlikely location.
Relationships: Gawain | The Green Knight & The Weeping Monk | Lancelot (Cursed)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 20





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My Apologies, Redemption chapter 7 should be up soonish (if your reading that one)
> 
> Otherwise enjoy this fluffy little oneshot. 
> 
> :) 
> 
> Enjoy. 
> 
> Update, I edited it. Sorry to anyone who read it pre edit.
> 
> inspired by a tumblr post about roommate prompts. found here: https://love-me-a-good-prompt.tumblr.com/
> 
> It was the last prompt on the list.

Gawain came home to the small apartment he shared with Lancelot. They had met in the first week of classes their freshman year and had shared several of their general courses since then, until this semester. For the last three years they have shared their living space, study habits, eating habits, and everyday life. They had cohabited the same space, with minimal disturbances despite being strangers when they moved in together. Certainly, they fought on occasion but it was never about anything to major, well except that one time, but they had sorted it rather quickly. Neither truly capable of staying angry at the other. It had been over a boy. More specifically about the lack of notice regarding a boy coming home with Gawain on game night, for purposes other than games. 

Today Gawain is running a little bit later than normal. It isn’t a big deal, it is Lancelot’s night to cook, so if the man was hungry he would have cooked and left him some. Besides, not only had his last class gone long, but he had decided to pick up some of the groceries he knew they needed. Unlocking the door he steps into warm air and a dimly lit room. Toeing off his shoes he pads into the common space towards the kitchen, casually avoiding Lancelots work space and easel. The kitchen is empty, and the space does not smell of food. Lancelot had not cooked then. A quick glance at the stove clock tells him that it isn’t actually nearly as late as he believed it was. The winter weather was throwing off his internal clock again. It was just past sundown, and it felt much later than half past four in the evening. Setting the groceries on the counter he acknowledged none of them were perishable and could wait to be put away. 

The absence of Lancelot is acute and he decides to check his room. It is unusual, especially on his night to cook, for him to be absent. He leaves the small kitchen and heads down the hall towards the rooms, and notes that his door is slightly ajar. He can’t remember if he left it that way or not, but it doesn’t particularly matter, if Lancelot had needed something he would have had the freedom to retrieve it. It was something that they had spoken about when they created their boundaries initially and adjusted them as they grew in their relationship. He ignores it and walks to the end of the hall and knocks gently on Lancelot's door. When he gets no answer he cautiously opens it, to find an empty room. Shrugging he returns to the kitchen and begins to put away the groceries from before. Then he will shower and make something for himself. It’s possible too, that Lancelot went out for ingredients or some such necessity.

When he opens his door what he sees causes him to stop short. The streetlight is casting the faintest orange glow through his window and onto his bed. And there, curled on his side is Lance in the fetal position, wearing his oversized sweater and purple skull covered socks, peacefully asleep. He smiles, it is the most adorable thing he has seen in a very long time. Lancelot's hair is down and unkept sprawling across his face and onto the blankets beneath him. Slowly he steps into the dark room, careful not to disturb his roommate. Hypercautiously he sits on the edge of the bed and thoughtfully brushes stray hair from Lancelot's face. He looks undisturbed and calm like this. Mouth slightly agape as he breathes in and out in a steady rhythm. The worry lines that come with final exams erased from his features under the sweet caress of sleep. His muscles relaxed and pliant as he shifts subtly closer to Gawain’s ghosting touch. He doesn’t know how long he sits there watching Lancelot, but he knows it is far longer than a friend perhaps should. Of course that comes as no surprise to him. He wishes they were more than friends, but neither had asked, and perhaps it was safer to remain in this domestic life they had than to fall into something labeled and full of expectations and preconceived notions. 

Finally, he rises and moves towards his dresser for a change of clothing, he has no idea how much time has gone by, only that he still needs to shower and eat something before he makes another decision. Casting a final gaze on his sleeping friend he leaves the room, door slightly ajar and showers. He loses track of time again and finds himself dwelling on what it would be like to have Lance in his bed regularly. To be able to view him in such peace anytime he wanted, and not just through a snatched moment, that the other is unaware of. When he finally leaves the bathroom dressed in a pair of surprisingly comfortable leggings, (He had thought they would be and he was correct) he scrubs at his head hair with a towel and drapes it around his shoulders to catch any remnants of dripping water. Stepping into the hall he shivers a touch, Lancelot likes to keep the apartment a touch on the chilly side, which isn’t an issue at all, except for right after he gets out of a near scalding hot shower. 

The hall light is on, and it hadn’t been, which means Lancelot must be awake now. He is determined not to say anything. There isn’t a point in bringing it up is there? Lancelot would likely just get embarrassed and go hide in his room, or in the shadowy depths of his comfy clothes, and impossibly large hood. He heads in the direction of the kitchen regardless, he hasn’t spoken to Lancelot in ages, or at least it feels like and whatever it is he has decided to cook tonight smells delicious. Garlic bread, his brain supplies, which means spaghetti. Simple, easy, a good “sorry I fell asleep and now I'm panicking to make something because I bet you're starving and it was my day to cook” food. Not that Gawain would have minded taking it on. Lancelot had been busy this week, finishing multiple art projects, writing a speech on his favorite era of art history, and studying for his theology exam. Infact, he was half tempted to tell the man to go lay back down and let him take over, but he would need a shirt for that and he was already in the dining room. 

“Spaghetti with your homemade Garlic butter?” He asks innocently. Lancelot glances up at him, the barest flick of his eyes and then back at what he is doing, preparing meatballs. And there it is. Lancelot looks back up, meets his eyes and then casually takes in the entire sight of him. Face flushing just a bit, but it could be the steam from the noodle water. He watches the bob of his throat as he swallows. He assumes the other is attempting to formulate a thought but short circuiting, so he takes the moment to study bare arms and a pale throat, and the way messy black curls cling to the side of his face, cascading loose from a hastily thrown up bun. Lancelot has ditched his sweatshirt to cook and is wearing only a tank top, the tattoo consisting of swirls and runes he doesn’t understand standing out brilliantly on his shoulder and cascading to his elbow. It wasn’t often he got to see this. It was a work of art, part of Lancelot's heritage and closely guarded. It was nearly impossible to look away as his eyes followed each swoop and dive, broad stroke and fine line as they moved in turn with the muscles beneath. 

"Those are not basketball shorts." Grits out his roommate, eyes still staring below his navel. He has dropped the meatball he was making and turned slightly to take Gawain in better. Grinning he laughs, 

“They certainly are not. Thought I would change it up tonight. Korin said they were comfortable so I thought ‘what the hell, I’ll give it a shot.’” Lancelot finally looks up at him and licks his lip. 

“ Are they?” Oh, he sounds like he’s choking on air. Lancelot towels his hands and takes a long drink from his water bottle. 

“So far, Yes. Do you want help?”

“With?” Lancelot looks lost in the kitchen, which is really unfortunate it is one of his areas of magnificents. He watches as he casts his eyes anywhere but at Gawain.

“The balls.” 

“The - Uh, no I uh, I’m good. Thanks.” The paler man says swallowing and pointedly starting the blender to puree the tomatoes into a sauce, cheeks unmistakably flushed now. When the noise ceases he watches as the liquid is poured into a saucepan and a mixture of spices is added along with roasted garlic and sauteed onion, stirred aggressively and left to heat. He chuckles when Lancelot stills as he walks to the fridge and grabs the carton of milk. Leaning against the counter he watches as Lance finishes preparing the meatballs and lets his eyes linger as he bends to put them in the oven. Then at his hands as he strains the noodles. He takes a long draw of milk straight from the carton and Lancelot turns to him, raises an eyebrow as they make eye contact and abruptly turns away instead of chewing him out like normal. Smirking to himself he wonders how far he can push Lancleot tonight without giving him a heart attack. He knows the attraction is mutual, unspoken but unmistakable. 

“Did you have a good nap.” The knife comes to a halt against the cutting board. Lancelot grips the carrot hard enough to turn his knuckles white and pointedly stirs the sauce with his other hand before picking up the knife and turning the rest of the carrot into bits for the salad. 

“Yes.” The mumble is almost lost among the clicking of the knife against the board. Gawain reaches for a slice of the now cooled Garlic bread, from his spot out of the way, and receives a well aimed smack to the knuckles with the flat of the blade. He locks eyes with Lancelot who is glaring. 

“Do not ruin your appetite.” Lancelot hisses, eyes fierce. 

“I don’t think that's possible where you're involved.” He sets the milk down and steps into Lancelot's space, and picks up the piece of bread he had intended to steal. Neither of them move. 

“How come you napped in my room. I don’t mind. Not even a little, but I am curious.” He takes a bite of the bread and loses his train of thought, “oh god, can Lancelot cook” he had made the bread earlier in the week. Lancelot looks away from him and that stings a little but mostly it’s cute, the way the pink has not receded at all but is progressively turning redder and spreading to his ears and onto his neck. They are close enough to touch if Lance took a step forward. Instead he takes two steps back and Gawain reciprocates, taking another long gulp of milk from the jug as Lancelot checks the meatballs. The oven is set to broil so they shouldn’t take much longer. He can almost see the cogs turning as he carries the salad and plate of warm bread to the table. Then the Pasta, still in the pot with a large fork, and the sauce in its pan with a ladle. 

“I was watching the sunset. I can’t see it from my room.” Lancelot finally answers as he retrieves the meatballs from the oven and places them in a bowl to be taken to the table. Gawain stares at him for a moment, 

“And you were comfortable enough to fall asleep?” 

“Mmm... I got lost in thought.” 

“What were you thinking?” Lancelot eyes him a moment then walks over and leans into his space, opening the cupboard to his right and removing two plates.

“Many things. Be a dear and bring the salad dressing and Parmesan cheese.” He watches as Lancelot turns and all but saunters to the dining table with the bowl of meatballs, two plates and their silverware. Blinking he kicks himself for standing there dumbly while Lancelot waits at the table. He puts the milk away and does as he was asked. When he finally joins him at the table he folds the towel over the back of the chair and they eat in silence, but god’s he’s going to die if he keeps catching the dark haired man looking at him like that. 

“What are you thinking now?” He manages around a bite of pasta. 

“That I felt safe.” 

“I don’t think I am following Lance.” Setting his fork down he makes purposeful eye contact. Seriousness seeping into what had been a very flirtatious evening. 

“I feel asleep in your bed, because I felt safe.” Lancelot looks away from him, and takes a drink of his water. He hadn’t expected that. What is he supposed to say? Slowly he takes another bite of his food, he suddenly feels so uncertain. Finally, for lack of anything better to say, 

“I’m glad,” he whispers and avoids making eye contact. 

“I’ve made you uncomfortable, haven’t I Gawain?” Asks the man beside him, voice small and fragile in his ears. 

“Not uncomfortable, thoughtful. I don’t know what the proper response to that is.” He answers honestly and meets blue eyes. 

“I don’t know either. But I wanted you to know that anyways.” Lancelot smiles softly and returns his focus to his food. 

They lapse back into silence as they finish their meal and clean up in synchronized routine. When the food has been put away, the counters wiped up and the dishes done, all in companionable silence, Gawain feels the need to speak again.

“If my teasing went too far earlier, I apologize.” He shrugs and picks up the damp towel to be put away properly. Lancelot snuggles back into the security of his oversized sweatshirt and turns to look at him. 

“You didn’t. I, I thought it was sweet. I would have spoken up. But, Gawain,” he stands still as the other approaches him, “ Were you teasing me, or flirting with me?” He feels the flush creep up his chest and onto his face, Lancelot is suddenly very close and his eyes are so very blue and earnest. On instinct he reaches up and brushes curls behind his ears, knuckles barely dragging across the others cheekbones in the process, and he leans into it.

“Flirting, I was definitely flirting and teasing. Both. It was both.” 

“Good,” Lancelot whispers, catching his hand, he lets it still and does not pull away as plump lips turn towards it and kiss his wrist. “Watch the sunset with me tomorrow:” 

He nods dumbly. He will happily watch the sunset with Lancelot whenever, wherever, and however, the other man asks him to.


	2. Confessions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After flirting, the tensions rise. Gawain refuses to keep denying how he feels, and Lancelot is eager to reciprocate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh so here's my first attempt at Lancewain smut. I hope you can all enjoy. It ended up way way way softer then it was supposed to be... I was kind of initially thinking pent up sexual tension unleashed and then.... well... that is very much not what we got.

“Lancelot!” He turns to the sound of his name and tilts his head at Gawain. He’s backlit by the dining room light and Lancelot is struck by the urge to paint him like an ancient god. Instead he waits patiently for whatever the other man has stopped him for. He doesn’t know what to say. Instinctively he takes a step forward as Gawain moves towards him. When chapped lips meet his he sighs, ghosts his fingers up toned arms and tangles them into bronze hair. It’s beautiful hair, hair he has dreamt of touching and toying with for a very long time. Not the occasional touch he has sometimes been graced with being allowed. He leads Gawain backwards with him until his back is flush against the wall and he can lean against it for better support. 

Gawain's lips move against his own and he realizes just how needy they both seem. The scratch of Gawain's short beard tickles as it brushes against his own clean shaven face. He lets the fingers of his right hand slip down and ghost along Gawains bare shoulder blade and down Gawain's spine earning a pleased groan. He grins into the kiss and decides he wants to hear more noises like that. Pulling back a little he glances up into hazy brown eyes, through dark eyelashes, and closes the distance again. Gawain grabs at his waist and draws him away from the wall, hands pushing his sweat shirt up and letting him touch the skin beneath. Lancelot shivers, he had wondered just what it would feel like to have Gawain's hands on his skin. He runs his tongue over a kiss swollen bottom lip and bites it. Gawain growels and deepens the kiss pushing him against the wall again. He moans and clings to him tighter, pulling gently at his hair. Finally, gasping for air they pull apart. But neither steps away from the other sharing their air. 

Gawain's hands are warm on the skin of his waist. Smiling, he opens his eyes and watches Gawain lick his lips before flicking his eyes up and meeting the others. Gawain leans forward and bumps their noses together before stealing another kiss. He lets one hand drop from dirty brown locks to toned bicep and squeezes gently. 

"Is that it then?" He manages to ask, voice hoarse. Gawain flicks his eyes up and down his face and tugs on his waist. He smirks as he's pulled through the open door of Gawain's room. He's kissed again and reciprocates it with complete enthusiasm and abandon. He turns them so Gawain is the one walking backwards and is met with no resistance. Lancelot does not break the kiss even as Gawain's legs come into contact with his bed and he sits. Instead Lancelot laughs against pliant lips and straddles the others thighs. Trails kisses across his jaw and down his throat. 

“Lance?” 

“Hmm?” He mumbles against the juncture of Gawain's throat and shoulder. 

“I’m just, uh, this isn’t going to be just a one time thing is it?” He pulls back far enough to make eye contact and raises an eyebrow. 

“Gods I hope not.” He grins and leans forward to meet eager lips. The hands on his waist drag up and catch the hem of both his sweatshirt and tank top. Instinctively he lifts his arms as Gawain pulls them off in a practiced motion and tosses them aside. Strong arm instinctively circling his waist so he won't topple over. All too pleased with himself he returns to his ministrations of Gawain's throat and shoulder and chest. He intends to leave a mark he will be able to see for days to come. Calloused fingers drift up his sides and chapped lips fall to his shoulder and he lets out a breathless gasp of surprise. Instinctively he rolls his hips forward and down and elicits another groan from Gawain as their excitement comes together. He inhales sharply and sucks hard against his shoulder before his back comes in contact with the bed. He laughs but allows Gawain to manhandle him into whatever position he would like. 

Looking up, he bites at his lip and brushes fingers against the blush on the others cheeks and tucks stray hair behind his ear. 

“Hi.” 

“Hello.” Gawain smiles down at him and licks his lips in anticipation. He tilts his head back as Gawain trails kisses across his forehead, his lips, and down his throat. But he doesn’t stop there, He continues down, brushing fingers lightly across his nipples and down his sides. He shudders at the feeling, reaches up and tangles his fingers in Gawain's hair again. 

“You can pull if you like.” Gawain says, hot breath ghosting against the muscles of his abdomen. He hesitates a moment, lets his hands fall away. Gawain looks up at him, concerned. 

“No? Not a good thing?” He asks, and sits up a touch, Lancelot swallows and looks away from him, towards the window. 

“I want to, but I don’t like my hair touched. It wouldn’t be fair.” 

“Darling, I won’t do anything you don’t want me to. You're welcome to pull my hair as much as you like, but I won’t touch yours. What else?” He feels Gawain sit up fully now, still straddling his narrow hips. Lancelot looks up at him, grinds his teeth together and blinks. Suddenly despite how much he wants this he feels unbearably vulnerable. 

“Lance?” Gawain prompts, brushing his thumb along his cheekbone. He leans into the touch. “Don’t uh, don’t call me…” he swallows again, the words feel like liquid fire in his throat, and he fears he might drown on them, “derogatory names,” He mumbles through the constriction in his throat, and grips the comforter below him. He watches Gawain's lips twitch up in a smile, 

“Never. Anything else,” Gawains asks again, thumb stills stroking his cheek in a comforting manner. He turns his head to the side again. 

“Promise me if I ask to stop, you’ll honor it.” It comes out in a rush. He hadn’t meant to say it, hadn’t meant the implication of it. Gawain's thumb stops against his face, 

“Look at me please.” It takes him a moment but he turns his head to look back at Gawain, he leans down so they are inches apart, noses almost touching, 

“If you ask me to stop, I will stop. I swear it.” 

“I know. I just needed to hear it.” He agrees with a nod, looking into honey brown eyes, full of something he can’t put a name on, something he could never capture with paint or pencil. Gawain leans down and kisses him chastly, it doesn’t take long for his previous fervour to return or be reciprocated. His touch burns in the best of ways, and Lancelot wants him as desperately has he ever had, more even with him so close. 

He gasps as Gawain flicks a tongue over a half hardened nipple and licks his lips. Gawain chuckles against his chest and drags his teeth over it and Lancelot grips the sheets tighter with one hand, the other tentatively resting in Gawain's hair unsure. 

“I promise it’s okay.” He whispers hot air ghosting along Lancelot's ribs and he shivers at the sensation, warm and damp and pleasant as Gawian plants kisses down his side, over the top of his appendectomy scar and myriad of others. He whimpers slightly at that and Gawains kisses him closed mouth against his stomach, caresses his side with his free hand. 

“You alright, love?” 

“Yes.” He breathes and tightens his hand in Gawain's hair guiding him back to his stomach. He can feel the others smile against his skin as he kisses him. When Gawain's fingers brush against the waistband of his sweats he lifts his hip and lets out a stuttered groan. 

“You sound delicious.” He meets Gawain's eyes and wants to wipe that know it all grin from his face even as his fingers dip below and pull. He maneuvers his hips helpfully and pointedly stares at the ceiling as he feels the cooler air of the apartment wash over him. 

“Beautiful” Gawain whispers, perched between his legs, eyes roaming over every inch of revealed skin. It takes every ounce of willpower to meet his eyes and not cover himself. Instead he pushes himself into a sitting position and raises an eyebrow before pointedly looking down. Gawain's erection is much more prominently visible through his leggings than it had been through Lancelot's own sweats. Gawain laughs and it’s musical, breaking the silence that was growing a bit tense. 

“Give me a hand?” He asks, holding a hand out to Lancelot. He takes it and the others grip is firm on his. He sits up on his knees and leans forward, planting his hands on Gawain's waist and kisses him firmly, licks into his mouth and Gawain relents, yielding beneath his touch. He dips a hand beneath the fabric of the leggings and takes Gawain in hand, the man shudders against his touch, at the feel of smooth skin and gasps into his mouth. Lancelot does not relent, he continues to touch and squeeze and kiss. Eventually Gawian pulls away from him, face flushed, brow sweaty and says between breaths, 

“Tease.” Lancelot smirks and withdraws his hand, loops his thumbs on the inside of the waistband and pushes them down, inch by inch until they bunch at Gawain's knees. The burnett all but falls out of bed trying to get them off in a rush and laughing Lancelot lays back on his hands. He splays his legs open invitingly and looks Gawain up and down before asking, 

“Are you just going to stand there or are you going to fuck me?” Gawain blinks at him and then reaches for the nightstand. 

“If that's what you want.” 

“Oh?” Gawain smiles over his shoulder and shrugs, the implication clear. He makes his way back to the bed, sits on the edge and leans over. 

“Up to you.” There's sincerity in place of challenge and Lancelot is unused to it. Gawain always takes charge, he never has to make the decisions that matter about what they do together. Gawain is always very good about asking him what he’d like to do, but Lancelot is by a series of events submissive and uncertain. To be asked what position he wants both agitates and amazes him. It must show on his face though because Gawain cocks his head and studies him more intently. 

“You didn’t think you’d get a say?” 

“I hadn’t thought about it.” He answers honestly, he had just assumed and been happy with it. 

“Well?” 

“I’d uhm,” He can feel his face flush, and Gawain seems to grow uncomfortable in the silence too. He leans forward until he’s kissing him again. When he pulls away he pushes their foreheads together again so he can't see Gawain's features in the dark of the room or the dim light of the streetlamps. 

“I’d like to be on the receiving end tonight. But, uh, next time?” 

“Gladly darling.” Gawin murmurs against his ear and guides him back. “Get comfortable.” 

He bites his lip and watches Gawain fidget with the condom wrapper, he's torn. He knows that neither of them have been with anyone in over a year and he also knows there's security in it, not to mention the habit of it. His mouth moves before he can think about it any further. 

“Neither of us has been with anyone in over a year….” He trails off, voice quiet eyes focused on the desk lamp to Gawain's right. He can hear the air move with the speed at which Gawain looks up at him. The invitation is clear, in his mind. Then he continues, “How would you like me? Facing you? Away?” 

“I always enjoy seeing your face, Lance.” He murmurs, then leans in and leaves a gentle kiss on his lips, “Are you sure?” 

“Yes.” He admits quietly into the air between them and moves back, settling himself against the pillows. Casually he takes himself in hand and strokes his neglected manhood and Gawain simply watches him for a while, his own giving a very interested twitch against his thigh. Finally Gawain rejoins him on the bed and settles between his legs, leans in and kisses him deeply. He hears the pop of the lid opening and shivers in anticipation, sucks gently at Gawain's tongue and lip and waits patiently. The first brush of slicked fingers against his cock startles him, but he lets Gawain's hand join his for a while, he wants to reach out and touch him again but can't quite get there, his head is fuzzy and spinning, his stomach swirling with warmth. He widens his legs when Gawain's knee presses against his thigh, and tells himself to relax as warm fingers find their way down, past his cock, over his balls and presses against his perineum. His muscles contract of their own volition and Gawain grins against his lips and repeats the action. Lancelot digs his heel into the bed and grips Gawain's arm tightly, 

“Good?” 

“Good.” He agrees breathlessly and Gawain has mercy on him, slipping his fingers back teasingly to circle his entrance. He stills his own hand and leans his head back, exposing his neck. Gawain leans down and kisses it, whispers

“You’re so good for me, so honest and beautiful.” He keens at the praise, would do almost anything to hear more of it fall like honey from those lips. 

“You like that?” Gawian asks, lips brushing the shell of his ear, fingers tantalizingly close to doing their job. He nods vigorously but can’t make his throat work. “Ahh, I wondered.” Gawain's lips find his collar bone and the man leaves a bruise against his skin as he slips his middle finger in, halfway to the second knuckle and pauses, waiting for Lancelot to relax. 

“I’ve got you. You’re doing so good. Just breathe.” Gawain hums against his skin and he does as he’s told. Gawain waits patiently for him, caresses his thigh with his free hand. 

“I’m good.” He finally manages and Gawain nods, kisses him again and continues, he goes slow, exploring really. He adds additional fingers slowly, more than slow enough to make sure that Lancelot is thoroughly ready for when the time comes. Gawain takes his time, pressing against the inside of him, dragging his fingers along sensitive walls as he pulls them out and pressing back in with intent. Lancelot is almost limp in his arm, head tilted back, face flushed and breathing heavily through parted lips when a shock of pleasure washes over him and he pulls abruptly on Gawain's hair with one hand the other still on his bicep. A gasp leaves his throat and he doesn’t even try to hold it back. Gawain repeats the action without a hesitation and Lancelot pitches forward burying his head against his shoulder. 

“Too much love?”

“No. I just. Been a while.” He manages to breathe against warm skin. He inhales and relaxes, Gawain smells like he always does, warm like sun and summer, and it instantly relaxes him enough to lean back a bit. 

“Sorry,” He grins sheepishly. 

“It’s alright. You’re doing a very good job. Lay back?” Nodding he does as he's asked and makes eye contact with Gawain who withdraws his fingers, drags them across sensitive skin, and Lancelot gasps at the touch. Gawain lets his fingers drag tantalizingly across the sensitive flesh of Lancelot's cock and he squirms until Gawain takes him fully in hand and strokes his shaft, reaching down to do the same to his own. Finally Gawain releases him, and reaches for the bottle of lube, but Lancelot reaches forward and swipes it from his hands. 

“Let me?” Gawain nods, spreads his legs a little and waits patiently. Lancelot is more liberal with the lube than he perhaps needs to be but it doesn't matter. He clicks the lid shut and tosses it off the side of the bed. He sits up more and kisses Gawain again, open mouthed and sloppy as he lets his hand slip over his arousal. Gawain hisses at the stimulation and he pulls back, slows his motions, asking. 

“Don’t stop.” The encouragement makes him smile and he takes hold of Gawain's member more securly, spreading lube and precome over it as he runs his thumb over the head and palm down the shaft. He continues longer than is strictly necessary, but the way Gawain has buried his head against his shoulder and is panting, warm breath against his skin keeps him in this position. 

Gawain places firm hands on his sides and pushes gently. He takes the hint and lies back, spreads his legs. Gawain lifts them over his thighs and instinctively he loops his ankles on the inside of Gawain's calves. He feels the tip of Gawain's member at his entrance and tilts his head back, tangles his fingers into the comforter and breathes. He knows how to make his body relax, wants it to in this case. Gawain is gentle as possible pushing into him in measured controlled movements. Lancelot breathes out, tightens his grip on the blanket, Gawain reaches for his hand, takes it in his own and kisses it before pressing the rest of the way in. He feels his ankles tighten against Gawain's calves with his back and abdomen. He breathes through it. 

Gawain kisses his brow. “Alright?” 

“Yes. Yes.” He agrees quickly and tangles his hands in brown locks. It’s quickly becoming his favorite thing,

“You really are so very good for me Lancelot. So very, very good, and stunning, and eager.” He whimpers, maybe that is actually his favorite thing. 

Gawain moves forward against him, and he breathes out, it doesn’t take them long to establish a rhythm that they both enjoy. He loves the way Gawain comes undone as they move in tandem. The way his breathing, despite being an athlete, grows ragged and unsteady against his shoulder, the way he groans when Lancelot instinctively tugs on his hair as waves of pleasure wash over him. Gawain keeps his thrusts steady and deep, and for his part Lancelot has little to complain about or ask for. Gawain is skilled, and he would not deny it. It was almost as if he could sense Lancelot's needs before he had a chance to voice them. If Lancelot adjusted his position, Gawain did as well. It hadn’t taken him long at all to locate his prostate and once he had, Lancelot was a mess in his arms. His back arched, and his muscles spasmed in time with the pleasure Gawain freely gave to him.

He gasped and managed to call out Gawain's name in part a couple times, but his mind was so hazy he wasn’t sure what else he uttered to the man above him. When Gawain slowed some and wrapped an arm around him he reciprocated without thinking, and went willingly when Gawain pulled him up and into his lap. He rested his forehead against Gawain's neck and held on tightly to his shoulders, one hand still in his hair as he straddled him. He bounced his hips down in time with Gawain's upward thrusts and they both moaned. This was definitely better. The added stimulation of his cock being trapped roughly between their stomachs made him shudder and bite at his bottom lip. But he didn’t slow down. The way it caught against Gawain's belly button, the friction that built as it drug across dry skin, until precum had eased the way, was almost overkill on its own. 

With a moan he bites down on Gawain's shoulder, not hard but a warning. He pulls away, kisses over the spot and gives Gawain's hair a good tug. 

“I’m not going to last much longer.” He manages to get out, voice more wrecked than he thinks it has any right to be. Gawain kisses his cheek and grips his ass tighter, steadies him, but doesn’t slow his thrusts, if anything he speeds them up, adjusts his aim. Lancelot holds tight and presses himself close to Gawain, effectively increasing the stimulation on his cock. He lets his head fall back and gasps Gawain's name through shallow shuddering breaths. Gawain holds him tights, fucks him through it, and spends shortly after. He thrust through it, letting the feeling wash through him. Lancelot leans forward into his space and kisses him again. It's sloppy and they're sweaty and out of breath but it doesn’t matter. If they died they would be content. 

Neither of them moves, wrapped up in eachother and busy catching their breaths, neither had the energy or desire to move. Gawain pulls back a little and brushes hair from Lancelot's sweaty brow, leans forward and kisses his forehead again. They’re both flushed but Lancelot leans forward and mouths at Gawain's shoulder then his neck before resting against him. Neither of them moves for a long time, revealing in the proximity of the other, the oneness of it. Finally Gawain pulls back again, 

“Lancelot?” 

“Hmmm?” He manages to slur, and he wonders if it feels at all like a cat's purr with his lips pressed against Gawain's throat like they are. 

“I’m happy to hold you, but it might be more comfortable to get cleaned up and lie down.” 

Deliberately he pulls himself away from the warmth of Gawain's body and nods. He feels empty with the loss of Gawain inside him, and around him, the remnants of their actions clinging to his stomach and thighs as he waits for Gawain to come back from the bathroom. He watches the door and Gawain smiles at him when he comes back cleaned up and carrying a warm rag. Instinctively he reaches for it, but Gawian pulls it back. 

“Let me?” He nods, somehow the act of letting Gawain wipe away the evidence makes him feel more vulnerable than the act of having sex with his best friend and roomate had. He laughs as Gawain lazily throws the rag on top of his dirty clothes hamper and pulls back the blanket. He motions for Lancelot to move under the blanket and he does. If Gawain will let him stay he won’t dare to say no. Gawain pulls him close, and kisses his shoulder, wrapping an arm tight around him. Lancelot doesn’t remember the last time he felt so completely safe with someone.

“Good night Lancelot.” Gawain breathes against his shoulder and he rolls over, so he can face his lover. He leans forward, touches their noses together and then their lips. 

“Bonne nuit mon amour,” he whispers and buries himself against Gawain's chest. Sleep claims them quickly.


End file.
